Otto Peighlaught
07-04-2016, 04:23 PM
As kids we all wanted to make a difference.
Desires of firemen, astronauts, changing existence
by rediscovering dinosaurs or rearranging our physics
with laws that young minds saw as faintly intrinsic.
Space and dimensions faded in distances quick as we aged.
Society forced lethargy as a principle way
and science in electronics was pushed on with oblivious strength.
Universal exploration itself was a mission that changed
from actual travel to a cybernetic psychosis.
The world at our fingertips, coders getting the fortunes.
The mind: virtual reality; the flesh: rigor-mortis.
Since we're melting the forests and leaving no healthy coordinates
we've assumed uploading our selves in our portraits
will allow us to become connected in orbit.
Doctors and lawyers profit while losing echelon statuses
with a public convinced you can get health in a bag of pills.
Trials and experimental procedures extend the elaborate
manners of death that only seem to help their establishments.
The breadth of the madness lends to the fickle-bound with rent
as the rich buy properties and the rest is the trickle down effect.
The harder the stones are cast, the more the ripple mounds are swelled.
The dawdling dichotomous have a limit found in selves
which allows the service industry to flourish a bit.
Now entry jobs are careers that live off extortion and tips.
While engineers can write a program and force them to quit
our ethics seem less Darwin and more a war on the rich.
I'm sitting due proper with a blue collar huffing the fumes,
fixing something in the plumbing or roof,
suppressing moods so I can fill my supper with food.
This server from Morton’s with the nerve or the fortune
to treat my work with his orders as a butler is rude.
His untaxed wages contradict that he's poor per performance.
I'm sweating. Fixing a house bigger than mine.
I could be an entertainer; spitting my rhymes,
or a fucking code monkey writing unequivocal lines,
but I prefer to help my community on the physical side.
It seems everyone wants to have the master profession.
I can't tell if torpidity is exactly as mentioned
or it's an illness and we're viewing a mass convalescence.
Either way the practice is endless.
The only difference in kids now is math or athletics.
Exaggerate their path for their parents
and watch media-fied minds ecstatically fend it.
Hope fiends with smoke screens and static's pathetic.
We've made a home from our imagined reflections
and utilized our only planet as weapons.
Man,
that's depressing.
Desires of firemen, astronauts, changing existence
by rediscovering dinosaurs or rearranging our physics
with laws that young minds saw as faintly intrinsic.
Space and dimensions faded in distances quick as we aged.
Society forced lethargy as a principle way
and science in electronics was pushed on with oblivious strength.
Universal exploration itself was a mission that changed
from actual travel to a cybernetic psychosis.
The world at our fingertips, coders getting the fortunes.
The mind: virtual reality; the flesh: rigor-mortis.
Since we're melting the forests and leaving no healthy coordinates
we've assumed uploading our selves in our portraits
will allow us to become connected in orbit.
Doctors and lawyers profit while losing echelon statuses
with a public convinced you can get health in a bag of pills.
Trials and experimental procedures extend the elaborate
manners of death that only seem to help their establishments.
The breadth of the madness lends to the fickle-bound with rent
as the rich buy properties and the rest is the trickle down effect.
The harder the stones are cast, the more the ripple mounds are swelled.
The dawdling dichotomous have a limit found in selves
which allows the service industry to flourish a bit.
Now entry jobs are careers that live off extortion and tips.
While engineers can write a program and force them to quit
our ethics seem less Darwin and more a war on the rich.
I'm sitting due proper with a blue collar huffing the fumes,
fixing something in the plumbing or roof,
suppressing moods so I can fill my supper with food.
This server from Morton’s with the nerve or the fortune
to treat my work with his orders as a butler is rude.
His untaxed wages contradict that he's poor per performance.
I'm sweating. Fixing a house bigger than mine.
I could be an entertainer; spitting my rhymes,
or a fucking code monkey writing unequivocal lines,
but I prefer to help my community on the physical side.
It seems everyone wants to have the master profession.
I can't tell if torpidity is exactly as mentioned
or it's an illness and we're viewing a mass convalescence.
Either way the practice is endless.
The only difference in kids now is math or athletics.
Exaggerate their path for their parents
and watch media-fied minds ecstatically fend it.
Hope fiends with smoke screens and static's pathetic.
We've made a home from our imagined reflections
and utilized our only planet as weapons.
Man,
that's depressing.